


Holding On

by pherede



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bladder Control, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Writing A Bunch Of Weird Shit Again, bladder desperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherede/pseuds/pherede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is fastidious, and there are no proper privies on the road. But when he tries to sneak away at night to relieve his bladder, he gets more than he bargained for... </p><p>(I was originally not going to upload this, because I wrote it as a weirdest-thing-you-can-write block-breaker, and it's not my kink at all so I don't know how effective it is at capturing the kink. But hey, if it is your kink and you like it, great!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On

The first night in the hills was a misery. The dwarves had packed very nice food, all the best of Hobbiton, but after a few days on the road they were down to stale oatbread, preserved plums, and a chunk of meat preserved in fat that would have been very nice fried up with fresh bitter greens and was instead downright nauseating when eaten in cold slabs.  
  
Bilbo had never been so sick of plums in all his life.  
  
Worse, the sleeping arrangements were less than cozy-- Bilbo, who had never gone a night without a featherbed on his mattress, tossed and turned furiously each night. His dignity felt very much out of joint.  
  
And most awful of all-- the privy options were appalling. The dwarves, when they needed to relieve themselves, simply trotted off into the bush-- or behind a rock-- or five paces from everyone else, opened their laces, and let fly without a care for spatters or runoff or the shuddering sensibilities of a hobbit. Bilbo preferred to dig a trench with a stick, line it with stones and perhaps absorbent moss, and do his business in absolute privacy, which was not so very difficult in the flat rolling lands of the Shire.  
  
Now, as they entered the hills, the ground turned stony and miserable. Digging would be impossible; moss was of course nowhere to be found. And so Bilbo steeled himself against the demands of his bladder, gathering whatever dry bits he found on his way, promising himself that once they stopped he would build a proper hole in the ground lined with crushed leaves and do his business once the dwarves had all nodded off.  
  
More than once, as they passed a tumbling brook or took more than the usual number of jolts from their ponies, his will wavered; but Bilbo was nothing if not a hobbit of propriety, and he gritted his teeth and carried on til evening, only a bit withdrawn during supper (such as it was).  
  
And once the moon rose and the dwarves had sung a song or two, smoked a pipe, and settled to their snoring, Bilbo crept from his bedroll with his bladder aching, made his wincing way a hundred feet down the hillside, and built his shrine to privacy.  
  
The feeling as he released his bladder at last was indescribable, a relief that was nearly obscene, and as his urine streamed into the muffling leaves he let a sound slip from his mouth that he had genuinely never imagined himself making before.  
  
He slept deeply after that, never mind the rocks digging into his ribs, and awoke just before the others to relieve himself once again. The grey pre-dawn light and the steam rising from the leaves made him feel quite peaceful, and ready for the long day ahead.

* * *

 

On the second day he discovered a strange new aspect to his self-control. Certainly, once morning turned to noon and he took a few swigs from the water-skin, there was the pressure and the urgency he had expected to bear; but there was also a squirming enjoyment, a creeping blush at his throat, a tendency of his mouth to fall open and his breath to come short. At times there was only a thin edge of jittering; at times his blood seemed to pound at the base of his belly, and the flexion of muscles that kept back the torrent was a ticklish-- then painful-- then delicious effort.  
  
At tea-time he caught himself rocking back and forth deliberately, testing the resolve of his bladder and feeling the twinge, the urge.  
  
At dinnertime, when the dwarves didn't even bother to stroll away from the group to piss, Bilbo struggled to conceal his envy and his self-congratulation. He was a proper hobbit with proper self-control, unlike these ridiculous dwarves with their secrets and their brawny shoulders and their boisterous behavior.  
  
On the other hand, Bilbo reflected as he watched Thorin work at his own laces and take himself in hand, none of the dwarves was now sitting on a stone to avoid the anguish of standing, hunched over his swollen bladder, biting his lip at the sound of his fellow travelers urinating.  
  
And, he realized, he was staring: he had never seen Thorin's cock before. It was thick, heavy, framed with curling hair that spilled through the gap of Thorin's trousers. It filled Thorin's hand as he shook off the last drips, and then some. It caught Bilbo's gaze and gave him half a cockstand, which was nearly painful with his bladder in such a state.  
  
Which is of course when Thorin turned and caught him looking, and though Bilbo blushed and coughed and looked away, when he turned back he saw a new hungry knowledge on Thorin's face, a considering gaze that followed him through dinner and onward down the hill.  
  
Bilbo was not sure what unsettled him more as they reached the dell where they met to camp: his near-bursting bladder or his own constant need to peek at Thorin, to watch the movement of his body and the fall of his hair, to remember that cock and imagine touching it for himself.  
  
He would be very, very glad to make his privy-place tonight.  
  
He even considered spending a bit more time away from the others than he strictly needed for urination, and relieving other tensions that had begun to build.

* * *

The dwarves had their evening song, stoked the fire, smoked pipes; and the whole time Bilbo curled, rocking in desperation, in his sleeping-roll, waiting for the others to drift off. He felt sweat trickling down his back from the effort of holding.  
  
To make matters worse, even though he had deliberately placed his bedroll a little distance away, Thorin brought his own bedroll over next to him, and sat almost within touching distance, smoking his pipe and brooding. Bilbo thought his every movement must be perfectly obvious to Thorin, and struggled not to rock and shift despite the growing cramps and the way his toes wanted to wriggle and the frequent angry spasms that shivered through him. He admitted to himself, studiously keeping his gaze from Thorin, that the soft earth on the other end of the dell might be all right even without digging first, that he might just get up after this next song and pretend to be taking a walk.  
  
Fortunately the dwarves all seemed quite exhausted, and they tucked in right after, leaving Bilbo twitching in the dark with Thorin still smoking beside him.  
  
"Pardon--" said Bilbo at last, hoping his voice didn't come out as a squeak. "I think-- I will take a little walk--"  
  
He didn't wait for Thorin's response, merely wriggled out of his sleeping bag and set off near-silently in the moonlight, descending to that patch of mossy earth he'd seen before. It was so pretty that he almost hated to soil it, and had he not been so desperate he might have gone somewhere else and dug a trench after all, but really he was quite desperate and--  
  
There came a rumbling laugh behind him as he started to undo his trousers. He whirled, though it gave him a painful stab to hold back his stream after so long denied and so near a release, to see Thorin standing behind him, shrugging off his coat.  
  
"I had suspected," he said, "but I thought you might prefer the long chase. I confess I am... relieved to find you so openly interested."  
  
With this he set down his coat and, to Bilbo's astonishment, put his hand to his laces to open his trousers.  
  
Bilbo felt his mouth drop open and nearly forgot the demands of his bladder for a moment. "I-- that is-- I don't--"  
  
Thorin paused, then added in a stricken voice: "Have I misread your interest? By my beard, I apologize--"  
  
He was already hurriedly reaching for his coat, his shoulders moving in ways that made Bilbo shiver to see, and Bilbo thought of Thorin's cock and of the dark look in his eyes and felt himself blurt out: "No, by all means, certainly..."

Thorin was on him before he had quite finished speaking, one arm around Bilbo's back so that Bilbo's arms came up to grasp his shoulders, his other hand lifting Bilbo's head so that Thorin could press his bearded face to Bilbo's throat and groan into the hollow of it.  
  
"Mahal, I have wanted you," he said, a low fierce thunder in his breast; Bilbo, whose toes were scarcely touching the ground, felt his insides twist with some insane exhilaration, and only gasped as Thorin kissed his throat, then his jaw, and finally his mouth.  
  
He was quite glad when Thorin lowered them both to the mossy earth. Except that as Thorin leaned over him, he was reminded of the reason for his coming here in the first place, and the stab of pressure in his belly stole the breath from his words for a few seconds.  
  
Thorin laughed at the way Bilbo's mouth opened round and wet, at the way Bilbo shook and arched as Thorin pressed his weight into Bilbo's groin, not suspecting that it meant more than arousal; and by the time Bilbo had regained his words, he had also regained his shame and his self-control, and he turned red to the ears and squirmed under Thorin with absolute desperation. "I, er, that is," he said, hoping his swollen cock would hold back the flood long enough for him to make an excuse, and hoping that Thorin would be willing to continue this once he had relieved himself; but Thorin merely placed one hand on Bilbo's groin, cupping him gently, and smirked at the way Bilbo convulsed in response.  
  
"So  _willing_ ," he said. "So... responsive. You do want this, don't you? Want my cock in you?"  
  
Bilbo groaned. Surely this was the end; surely he would die of this. "Oh yes," he said, "oh yes, so much, only--"  
  
"Only what?" Thorin's voice was gentle, teasing; Thorin's hand was sliding Bilbo's trousers off, palming the curve of his bottom, fingertips grazing the cleft.  
  
"Only I need to... er.. finish taking my walk," said Bilbo lamely, hating his own propriety, but far too ashamed to admit his need.  
  
"Have you anywhere else to go, on this walk of yours?" Thorin raised his hand and licked it, slicking his fingers thoroughly, and while Bilbo's breaths escaped in moans instead of words he put his fingers back to work below, easing into Bilbo's arsehole gently.  
  
"I suppose not," said Bilbo, thinking of the impossibility of finding another place to pee with Thorin here nearby. It was, apparently, all the encouragement Thorin needed, for now he opened Bilbo vigorously, stretching his fingers within Bilbo while the poor hobbit focused all his attention on not wetting himself, laughing in triumph at the way Bilbo spasmed around his fingers and trembled in all his limbs.  
  
When Thorin withdrew his fingers Bilbo was nearly undone; he was so hard, and his bladder so full, that every pulse of blood in his body was a drumbeat that resounded all the way to his balls. He thought of running; but he also thought of being filled, of having Thorin's cock in him, and he resolved to bear any pressure and any amount of desperation if he could have that length slide into his aching body and stay.   
  
So he let Thorin turn him over, cradling his chest in his massive arm while he spread Bilbo's legs with his other hand, and as Bilbo's breaths came in short delirious gasps he let Thorin breach him with that enormous cock, stretching and burning as he felt the leg-trembling twinge of urgency, letting the sensation of his filled arsehole combine with the agony of his overfull bladder until he could hardly think or speak.  
  
Thorin sank into him, deep and massive, and groaned out his pleasure. "Such a wanton," he said, clearly pleased; "you take my cock so easily, even with your whole body shaking." He leaned in close, the weight of him falling against Bilbo's back and nearly overcoming Bilbo's resolve right there, and murmured: "Your hole is so  _hungry_  for me, you desperate little thing."  
  
Bilbo only moaned, shivering violently all over with his need to piss and his need to be fucked; and when Thorin drew back and pushed back inside, Bilbo cried out shamelessly, pressing himself into the earth both for friction against the moss and, perversely, to make the twinge worse, to feel the shudders of his body fighting itself for control.

Thorin was not gentle with him, and as he took his satisfaction in Bilbo's tormented body he whispered such wicked and depraved things in Bilbo's ear that the poor hobbit blushed just to hear them: debasement and endearments,  _my little whore_  and  _my darling_  and  _your sweet curling ears_  and  _your filthy twitching hole_. He wondered if Thorin heard himself saying them, if he thought such things during daylight hours when he looked at Bilbo ( _such a sweet round ass, I should carve a wooden plug and make you wear it during the day, I should spank it every night before you sleep_ )... and he discovered that he loved Thorin's words, that they filled him with shy blushing joy and with sick-squirming pleasure.  
  
He let himself wonder, just for a moment, if Thorin would really make him that plug, if he could wear it all day while he held in his piss, if he could feel the shape of the wood against his tortured bladder--  
  
As he felt Thorin's cock now, as he felt the endless impacts overcome his last resolve. He squirmed with real urgency now, with desperate purpose, trying to get away before he lost control even if it meant losing the mass of Thorin's cock pounding him.  
  
Thorin caught at him as he shifted, and Bilbo nearly got away, only restrained by Thorin's hand against his belly. "Why," began Thorin, and his hand shifted lower as his cock rocked forward, and Bilbo  _heard_  the dark smile spread across his face.  
  
"You need more than my cock," said Thorin, and Bilbo would have been paralyzed with shame if he had not been scrambling with such glassy-eyed urgency. "You need to _piss_ , don't you, I can feel your body full of it, no wonder you shudder so sweetly."  
  
"Please," said Bilbo, choking on his own voice. "Please, I need to-- I have to piss--"  
  
Thorin paused for a moment, as if considering his request, then: "No," he said, richly amused, and his powerful hands closed on Bilbo's hip and shoulder respectively, and he fucked hard and deep into Bilbo's body without mercy.  
  
Bilbo sobbed for air and his legs kicked frantically as Thorin fucked him, but he only succeeded in pulling them both down to the dirt, until Thorin was fucking him into the mossy earth with such vicious fury and depth that even with his fists clenching spasmodically and his toes spread in wracked determination and his cock throbbing against the merciless mossy ground Bilbo could no longer hold himself in check. He jerked beneath Thorin like a hare caught in the trap, feeling the first seal breached, feeling the torrent descending in wrath and destruction, feeling the rush of piss burning as it poured from his cock and soaked the ground beneath him and ruined his clothing and spread and spread.

Thorin felt him give way and stopped his fucking for a moment, choosing the point of greatest sensitivity and leaning his cock hard into Bilbo's body, keeping the pressure so intense that Bilbo thought he must either explode or black out; he pissed until he was utterly soaked, and still there was pressure, the weight of Thorin's cock making him feel as though he had not yet begun to find relief, the twinge remaining even as the hot rush of piss assailed his swollen, aching cock. He would die; he would piss forever; he would never be able to piss enough.  
  
"Dirty," hissed Thorin, his voice thick with unbearable arousal. "Filthy, you filthy creature, can you feel how hard you make my cock with your shame," and as Bilbo came to the end of his bladder's release at last, he felt Thorin's breath stutter above him and his hips begin to thrust again and the last shivering stream became another form of release entirely, and Bilbo came violently facedown in the piss-soaked dirt with Thorin's cock jerking in his gut and his seed spending hot against the cooling wet cloth of his ruined shirt, beneath his belly.  
  
He nearly wept with shame, once the force of climax left him; but Thorin stripped him with gentle hands and brought a water-skin from camp to wash him, and his clear pleasure in Bilbo's debasement made it much easier to bear. The clothes they washed in the stream, and Bilbo resolved to pretend he had gone for a walk and slipped into the mud, though Thorin teased him with ear-burning speculation about the others' reactions if they knew their prince had fucked Bilbo into pissing himself; and they pulled their bedrolls together and slept as close as propriety might allow.  
  
And as Bilbo drifted off to sleep, he heard Thorin murmur: "When I make your plug, I should make another for your cock, to keep your bladder full until I say you can let go."  
  
Bilbo shuddered, but he could not disguise the moan that escaped him, and as Thorin laughed low and pleased at his response Bilbo found himself hoping that the plug would be carved very soon.


End file.
